


Same Old Lang Syne

by xagentofchaos



Series: Steter drabbles [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Elevator Sex, Fingering, M/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles had a crush on his high school teacher for years. He hasn’t seen him since graduation, now they’re in the same elevator and it stops between two floors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a song made by Dan Fogelberg.

The only reasonable thing he can do is trying his hardest to not turn around and stare. Although, his hands are sweaty and fingers are shaking and he’s _sure_ that everyone left in the elevator can hear his rapid heart beating in his chest. He’s somewhat wishing that all of them could just _leave_ , right now, before he turn into a sweaty puddle. But even if that would be a dream scenario, parts of him just know that it won’t happen. And other parts… well, the traitorous ones, are a bit excited. 

Four tired people are hovering themselves up against the walls to not touch someone else’s jacket. One is talking loudly into their phone, to someone named Samantha apparently, who’s angry at a Mike if you listen closely. There’s also a sighing man in the back, behind Stiles, who’s stomping his foot against the floor with irritated movements. His heat of frustration is filling the air with annoyance. But Stiles can just tell that he’s hot, it’s like a sixth sense. That’s why parts of him are excited. Who doesn’t like hotties, honestly? 

Three people gets out when the elevator stops on the third floor and the rectangular machine is rumbling further. On sixth floor, the rest of them jogs out with straight backs; looking oddly important for some reason. Stiles wonder what good they have given to the world. Probably not anything he could afford. 

The hottie behind him scoots further to the left to not provide to an awkward situation as a quiet rustle is being heard above them, squeaking screws and a vibrating shiver goes through the air. And then the elevator stops, doors still closed. 

It’s quiet for a while; both of them are supposedly trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Until the man behind him goes through a tantrum. 

“Oh come on,” he grumbles, stepping forward to hit the doors with a flat hand. “I don’t have time for this.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long while; he just stares at the man who is now on the same line as he is. An embarrassed flare goes through him, leaving speckles of memories from the past in his mind. Memories of him sneaking pass slightly open doors to get a pretty bad, but appreciated look of what was inside. Memories of him taking extra classes just to get some time to shine for _this specific person_. Memories of the daydreams, night dreams, _wet dreams_. All the times he bothered Scott with his detailed wishes, the times he went too far and wrote his name all over his assignments to erase them with fever, when he came too close. 

Those memories are sprinting in his mind while staring at the frustrated figure beside him, banging on the elevator doors. At first, he doesn’t know what to do. Should he ignore the unreal situation by looking in another direction? Should he also bang the doors to get this thing going, perhaps even kick it? There are a thousand things he _could_ do, that he doesn’t.

“Peter?” 

The bigger man beside him turns immediately when Stiles’ voice hit the chords, whispering his name out. At first it looks like Peter doesn’t recognize him, he fell into silence, stares at Stiles with an unreadable expression. Stiles’ heart is beating faster and harder than before while he’s falling into the endless of Peter’s eyes once again; the memories of him crying at nights because of his undying crush for his high school teacher. 

Until he shines up in a big smile, just as perfect as before. If not more. 

“Stiles?” he greets and reaches out to touch Stiles’ shoulder. The heat is more uneven between them now, not as consistent as it were before this. “What an odd place meeting you in.” 

“Why, because bratty kids with no future doesn’t belong in companies for intelligent people?” he snaps before he had any time to think it through. Peter’s smile dies immediately. Stiles also remembered his hard work to get the older man to notice him before school’s end. He was being quite loud in class just to have the attention fully on him, getting both students and his desirable catch to watch. It worked for a while; stealing the questions from others, getting into trouble every few days, making coffee and buying sweets. His rewards were always secret smiles, grins and sometimes a few touches on his neck and sides from smooth fingers. 

Until he, just like the rest of the teachers, snapped. Sending Stiles home with a call to his dad and a lump in his throat. 

Bringing the memories back brought his anxiety back and it was surprisingly difficult to handle. He had to place his hand against the wall for support, to not shake visibly in front of Peter. He’s been dealing with far too many embarrassing moment, _please God, don’t let this be another._

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Peter says in a horrible tone that resembles an excuse. Stiles huffs out an annoyed laugh. _Yeah, tell that to my eighteen year old self_ , he thinks. 

“Whatever man,” Stiles sighs and tries to breathe through the anxiety. 

“I mean it,” Peter continues and gets closer to Stiles. “I can explain.”

“ _Whatever_ ,” Stiles tells, trembling more in his body. He doesn’t want to hear it. He honestly shouldn’t have to, he’s a twenty-three year old man who had a crush on his teacher, it’s not like a dog got killed. Because if anything happened to a dog, he’d cry much more than he had been and be way more depressed than he was. The tears would last for five hours instead of four, and he’d be depressed ‘til he is twenty-seven. 

He wants to get out of there; get to work and just be _finished_ with life. Just get as far away he can from Peter and never see his stupid and incredibly hot face ever again. Why did his day have to turn into hell?

“I said that to not get you in any troubles,” Peter says, stubbornly to get Stiles’ attention. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

“It didn’t work,” Stiles mutters. It really didn’t. Having Peter tell him that his future was basically over in front of thirty eager listeners, didn’t only give him a hard time recovering himself, but it also made him a victim of stupid bullying. Perhaps it wasn’t much if he looked back at it, but experiencing it was not something that he took lightly on. It ruined his self-esteem. 

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Whatever.”

He doesn’t want Peter’s apologies. He wants to get the fuck out. But the elevator doesn’t look like it will work anytime soon; they’re pretty much stuck in there. God knows how long. 

“I’m not usually the one to follow the rules or be on the good side with the law,” Peter continues. Stiles can see from the corner of his eyes that the older man is grinning to himself. “Not that I have done any heavy drugs or murdered someone per se, but things have gone down.” He pauses for a second and turns to Stiles. “Your dad was, or is, a cop, I couldn’t really risk anything.” 

“What the hell are you even talking about?” He’s starting to get irritated. This was _not_ how he wanted to spend his Wednesday. 

“Getting together with you would not only get me fired and behind bars, it would also be problematic for you.” 

Stiles has to turn his unwilling attention to Peter now and stare at him with a dumbstruck expression; mouth open and brows furrowed. He tried to process what had been said, but couldn’t quiet grasp the meaning. 

Peter seemed to understand how Stiles struggled to understand, so he got even closer. “I know you wanted me back in the days, Stiles. I could see the hunger in your eyes. Hell, I could even smell it some days. It was,” he gets closer and closer, licking his lips. “very distracting.” He’s now only inches away from Stiles, breathing hot air in his face. “Somehow they knew, or they thought they knew, the teachers. They would pick fights about it, lecturing me, telling me ‘ _he’s just a child_ ’. I had to break it down in order to not be sent to jail." 

“So me getting bullied was less dangerous than you getting a reputation?” Stiles mutters, trying his hardest to not stare at Peter’s lips. 

“You getting bullied weren’t anything I could control. I’m sorry it happened but it was better that way.” 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Stiles snarls but squints his eyes in confusion when Peter laughs.

“As if you didn’t know that when you were sneaking outside the doors, watching me with thirst.” 

He was right, of course. Peter already had a reputation that sneaked between both student’s and teacher’s mouths in the corridors. He was the literal description of a bad boy that mostly the girls adored. But Stiles was the only one that actually took it to the next level. He couldn’t help it; he’s always had a shivering hunger in his neither region from the thought of a rebel ripping him apart. He’s still shivering by the thought, trembling in his nerves. Peter is so close now.

“You still are,” he continues. “You are shaking with excitement.” His hands are travelling down from Stiles’ chest; lower and lower. Slowly, further down his body. “You still want me.” He’s being pressed against the wall, mouth slightly open to catch the hot breaths from Peter. “Tell me how much you want me to touch you.” He’s barely ghosting a touch of his fingers above Stiles’ crotch, teasingly like feathers. 

“Please,” Stiles' mouth tells without his acceptance, it comes out in a childish beg. “I want it.” He tries to buck his hips against Peter’s hand, to get more friction and warmth on his half hard cock. But Peter holds his body still with his other hand, demandingly pushing him closer against the wall; it almost hurts but Stiles couldn’t care less. 

“Tell me,” Peter whispers huskily. “ _how much_.”

“More than anything. Please, I’ve wanted this for so long. I need it,” Stiles whimpers. Peter smirks at him. He bows his head down and licks a trail of warm saliva on Stiles’ neck, making him shudder with arousal. Finally, Peter touches him; his hand grips Stiles’ hard on through his jeans, still with his mouth on the younger’s skin. Stiles can’t help but dry hump into the hand, making indescribable noises between heavy but irregular breaths. It’s not just the sensation from having someone licks and bite on sensitive parts, it’s also the fact that it’s _Peter_ doing all this. The thought of that is making him quiver; the man is finally pushing him against a wall and works him up enough to _fuck him_ against it. “Please,” Stiles groans. He wants it so much, nothing else is important. 

“Patience,” Peter murmurs and sucks on the skin underneath Stiles’ ear. Stiles can’t help but laugh desperate sounds from his throat. 

“I can’t,” he admits in shame because of his desperation and pleadings. Peter must think he’s a loser. “I need it now. Please fuck me.”

Peter looks up from his neck, straight into his eyes with his darkened. At first, Stiles thinks he’s angry. But when he unzips his own pants (and Stiles looks down, _of course_ , to see his erect cock in his hands, moaning a bit), Stiles does the same to his. 

“Off,” Peter demands. “Take it all off.” 

Stiles obeys and rips his shirt off, the shoes next and then his pants. Only seconds later he stands completely naked from top to toe in front of his ex-teacher. The teacher whom he’s been having these kinds of dreams about. Not exactly in an elevator, but anything will do. 

“Arms around my neck,” Peter continues. Stiles does what he’s being told and immediately he’s being lifted up from the ground by Peter’s strong arms underneath his legs. He gasps in surprise from being above Peter but he doesn’t dare to look down. Not because he’s embarrassed, but he’s too excited and is afraid that he’ll come just by seeing the man underneath him. 

His legs are around Peter’s middle, holding himself on place tightly to not fall down but Peter holds him up with strength. He’s so hard and impatience that he just wants Peter’s cock in him right now, but the man is taking it slower, dragging it out. He’s definitely doing it on purpose, to make Stiles desperate for it. 

“Suck,” he says and places two fingers in front of Stiles’ mouth. With a soft noise of pleasure, Stiles sucks on Peter’s fingers eagerly; wetting them completely with saliva. “Good boy.” He moans around the index and middle finger. “Can you take two straight away?”

Stiles nods and whimpers when the hot is leaving his mouth but is rewarded right away with Peter’s fingers are working him open, twisting and finger-fucking, fast and messy. Stiles groans loudly; head leaning against the wall, eyes closed. A sudden burning sensation shots through him when a third finger presses into him, but it burns so good. 

“Ready?” Peter asks underneath him, voice thick with lust. 

“Since first year,” Stiles laughs. He’s still not looking Peter in the eye; too lost in the sensations but he can feel Peter’s burning gaze on him. 

The fingers are being replaced with a thicker burn; ripping him open with a breathless grunt. 

“Oh God,” Stiles moans, his insides accepting Peter’s cock slowly, filling him up completely. 

“Look at me,” Peter demands, working himself inside Stiles slowly at first but is turning up the speed as Stiles is accepting him more. But he can’t look down, not yet; he needs to feel this moment a bit further, needs to remember this forever. “Stiles look at me.” 

“I can’t,” Stiles groans truthfully. Peter’s cock is hitting every nerve in him, sending electrical impulses of sensation. His back will be sore of blisters in the next morning from being banged against a wall, but the pain mixed with the amazing feels is making him shake. His cock is leaking with pre-cum, smeared across Peter’s stomach. “Oh _fuck_.” 

“Are you close?” 

“ _Yes_ , oh God.” His vocabulary isn’t getting any more intelligent than that but it seems to have a positive effect on Peter, the older man is fucking him faster and hums inappropriate words while biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Stiles presses his hands on Peter’s neck to urge their foreheads together. They’re moaning in sync now, both trembling from being close to explode. With one hand still on Peter’s neck, he’s grasping the hair, and with the other one he searches for something else to hold onto when the orgasm hits him hard. 

He’s pretty much screaming, muffled with his mouth pressed against Peter’s forehead. Coming untouched all over Peter’s stomach, shaking violently. Peter is there with him only seconds later, ravaging his cock hard into Stiles a few times before he also shakes with pleasure. 

Stiles slides down on the ground again when they’re both flat, still holding his hands on Peter’s neck. While breathing hard into his chest, he feels Peter place small kisses on the top of his head to let him know that this wasn’t a onetime thing. 

“So, uh,” he starts with saying to clear the air, but doesn’t get any further when another voice is being heard. 

“ _This is the assistance, what can we help you with_?” 

Both of them are quiet for a long while before Stiles almost shouts out: “The elevator is stuck.” 

“ _We’ll be there in a couple of minutes, stay put_.” 

He must’ve accidentally pressed the assistance button while being pushed frequently against the wall. Lucky them the lady didn’t answer until they were both finished. 

“Get dressed,” Peter tells him. “It will be awkward if they find you naked.” 

“Probably,” Stiles agrees and puts on all of his clothes, legs wobbly from the post-orgasm. “When they fix the elevator, we’re going to call in sick.” 

“Is that so?” Peter wears an amused grin on his face; eyes still dark but looks a bit tired. 

“It is,” Stiles promises, grinning back at the older man. He leans in to press a gentle kiss on Peter’s lips, taking what he has wanted for years. It feels awesome. Peter’s lips are just as soft as he’d imagined. “Because you’re going to follow me home and I’m going to show you all of my wet dreams from high school.” 

“Sounds good,” Peter smiles and kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> Psssst,  
> if you're going to fuck your high school crush in an elevator; use a condom.  
> Don't be peterstiles-stupid, you never know.


End file.
